Soul Seekers03 - Mystic (26 page)

“Were there any other effects?” Chay’s posture grows stiff, his voice tense.

I think back. “While it didn’t seem to affect her at all, for Dace and me, it was rough going. The smoke was acrid and heavy. And it wasn’t long before I started to grow really dizzy, and my vision went all blurry and weird to the point where everything around me bore this sort of strange halo-effect. I figured it was the influence of the Lowerworld. But you think it might be the oleander?”

“And you watched her eat the flower?” Chay dodges my question for one of his own. Nervously working the eagle ring on and off his finger.

I lean forward, needing to know what he knows. “Chay, what are you thinking? Does all of this actually mean something?”

Without answering, he pushes away from the table and peeks his head into the back room where Leftfoot is still examining Dace. “Chepi,” he calls. “I need you to come out here and join us. I need you to tell us everything you know about poison women.”

thirty-eight

Daire

“There hasn’t been a poison woman for years,” Chepi says. “So many years, most assume it’s a myth. Why do you ask?” Her eyes dart suspiciously toward me. As though she suddenly suspects I might be one.

I locate her son and restore his soul, just like I promised, and she still doesn’t trust me! What more do I have to do to gain her approval?

“Many cultures have stories of poison women,” Leftfoot says. Having finished examining Dace, he comes in to join us as Dace follows behind. “In Eastern Indian culture, they’re known as Vish Kanjas. Japanese myth features them as well, they’re called Dokufu. As the myth usually goes, a poison woman is chosen from infancy when she begins receiving small but regular doses of the poison in order to build up a tolerance. Over time, her bodily fluids become so contaminated that making physical contact with her becomes extremely dangerous, if not fatal.”

“But surely an oleander isn’t capable of that—aren’t they the landscaping plant of choice on the L.A. freeway system?”

“Oleander is highly toxic,” Chepi says, sliding her arm around Dace and pulling him close. “One of the most poisonous of all the common garden plants. Ingesting the nectar from the flower or chewing the leaves can prove fatal.”

“And when burned, it emits highly toxic fumes that can impair vision, cause dizziness, and worse,” Leftfoot adds.

Dace and I exchange a look. Between our dizziness and impaired vision, coupled with Phyre’s bizarre fascination with her saliva, the way her breath alternately inflamed and tempered the fire—it jells.

This has got to be it.

Phyre Oleander Youngblood is a poison woman.

“Her dad’s that crazy snake-handling prophet,” Dace says. “You remember, Suriel Youngblood. The one who used to live on the reservation that everyone sought to avoid? The one who handles the rattlers to prove how righteous he is? Claiming God would never allow him to get bit—and if by chance he did, it would only be to prove his powers to the disbelievers when he was instantly healed.”

“The one who took his wife’s maiden name?” Chepi makes a disapproving face.

“So, you think maybe he’s been feeding her a mix of rattler venom and oleander sap since she was a baby, in place of the pureed bananas and carrots the rest of us were raised on?” I ask, my gaze darting between the elders, before settling back on Dace.

“It’s possible,” Leftfoot says. “But a lifetime of ingesting distilled oleander extract alone is enough to do considerable harm to anyone who became intimate with her. The snake venom would almost be overkill. Though I’m not sure it matters either way. Phyre is poisonous, of that I am sure.”

I picture her waiting outside of Cade’s house, purposely moistening her lips before moving in to kiss him—and I’m convinced Leftfoot’s right. Or at least until I remember Phyre’s intimate history with Dace, and the theory crumbles just as easily.

I turn to Dace, hating to do it, but it has to be asked. “Did anything weird happen to you after you two were together?” I ask, surprised to find that I am apparently the only one who was aware of their history.

Chepi balks, gaping incredulously at her son, as Dace drops his chin and studies the cracked tile floor.

While I’m sorry I’ve made them uncomfortable, now more than ever, I need to get to the bottom of this. Need to either prove or disprove this horrifying new theory that just popped into my head.

“Listen,” I say. “I know this is awkward, but I think by this point, we should all be far beyond embarrassment. The fact is Dace was with Phyre, however briefly, and I need to know if—”

“No,” Dace says, icy-blue eyes meeting mine. “I suffered no ill effects, other than a lingering case of regret.”

I screw my lips to the side, trying to make sense of it. But then I remember something Phyre said.

“I wasn’t given the name until I was sixteen. That’s when my destiny was sealed.”

Which is most likely the same year she became toxic.

The same year she moved back to Enchantment.

The same year her father ordered her to fulfill her destiny by killing either Dace or Cade Richter, thereby commencing the Last Days.

My eyes grow wide. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.

“What day is it?” I cry, frantically searching for a clock. It’s impossible to keep track of time in the Otherworlds, and I have no idea what day it is, much less how long Dace and I have been gone.

“December thirty-first,” Chay says. “New Year’s Eve.”

I swallow hard, attempting to ease a throat gone suddenly dry. My voice so gruff I hardly recognize it as mine when I ask, “What time, specifically, down to the exact minute?” I look to the window, horrified to find the sky draped with night.

“Eleven fifteen. Why?” Chay leans toward me, starts to put a comforting hand over mine, but I’m already out of my chair. Already grabbing Dace by the arm and pulling him along with me, as I race for the door.

“Phyre’s going to kill Cade,” I say, glancing back one last time. “And she’s going to do it with a single fatal kiss at the stroke of midnight!”

serpent’s kiss

thirty-nine

Daire

“What’s the New Year’s Eve tradition at the Rabbit Hole?” I grip the edge of my seat in an attempt to keep from vaulting into the roof, as Dace maneuvers his old white truck with the worn-out shocks over bumpy dirt roads. “Since every holiday seems to be celebrated there, I’m wondering if there’s something different about the way they observe it. Something we can use.”

“It’s the usual routine.” Dace pulls a hard right, his fingers gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles go white in sharp contrast to his gorgeous brown skin. “Decorations, noisemakers, stupid hats, music, food, mayhem, chaos, drunkenness, and the countdown to midnight when everyone makes a mad grab for someone to kiss.” He comes out of the turn and punches hard on the accelerator again. Sending the truck rearing and bucking onto another dirt road that’s in even worse shape than the one just before.

“And Phyre will make a mad grab for Cade. It’s the deadline her father gave her when he said, ‘
See that it’s done by midnight … Any later is too late
.’ It’s her last chance to prove herself worthy of her made-up destiny.” I peer out the side-view mirror, watching the dust swirl in our wake.

“Then she better get in line.” Dace glances my way. “Girls have always been drawn to my brother.”

“It’s the mind control. He’s altered their perception.” I make a frowny face, quick to dismiss it.

“And here I thought you were going to say it’s because he shares my good looks.” He lifts a brow, flashes a grin. And while I’m glad to see he hasn’t lost his sense of humor, it takes a moment for me to lighten my mood and join in.

“You look nothing like Cade.” I make a point to avoid his eyes when I say it, so I can pretend that it’s true. “You’re a zillion times hotter than he’ll ever be.”

Dace laughs—the sound deep and true—adding a welcome bit of levity to an otherwise somber mood.

But the effect is short-lived. Another moment passes, and once again, our problems intrude.

“Every year it’s the same, but Lita was always there to fend them off, keep them away. This year, without her, it could be a problem.”

“No one stands a chance against Phyre. If our theories are correct, she’ll make sure she gets to him first. She’s beyond determined,” I say. “And it would be a mistake to underestimate her. She’s smart, cunning, and desperate—it’s a deadly mix. She’s also on a major losing streak. Having failed at everything else, this is her last chance to make her dad proud.” I frown at the clock on the dashboard. Less than forty minutes to spare. “Not a lot of time to get the job done.” I pat my pocket for reassurance, grateful for the athame I stashed there.

“And we may have even less. Suriel is convinced the New Year serves as a herald for the Last Days. And while he’s charged Phyre with the task of killing Cade, he’s also lost faith in her ability to get the job done. He might not want to chance it. He might not even let it get to that point.”

“I’ve no doubt she’ll go through with it. You should’ve seen her face right before she fled the Lowerworld. By now, it’s become a matter of principle. If nothing else, she’s tired of being thwarted at everything she sets out to do. If we find Cade, we find her.”

“Or Suriel.” The look Dace shoots me is as ominous as his voice.

“Either way, it’s over by midnight.”

“And we’ll be so busy stopping her, I won’t be able to kiss you. Can our luck get any worse?” He stops at the far end of the alleyway, kills the engine, and swivels toward me with deep haunted eyes.

“It can always get worse. If we’re unable to stop them—”

He leans toward me and presses a finger to my lips, snuffing the words before I can speak them. “We’ll stop them,” he says. “I’ll make sure of it. Now that I have you back, I have no plans to lose you again.” He hesitates for a moment, as though wanting to replace his finger with his lips, then abruptly draws away and jumps free of his truck as I do the same. “If Cade was a reasonable person, we could just warn him that Phyre’s a poison woman and her sudden interest in him is all part of her dad’s crazy, Apocalyptic vision, and get on with our night. But it’s never that easy, is it?”

“That would only spike his suspicion and spur him straight into her arms. He’d never believe that I’m actually out to save his horrible, worthless, wretched excuse for a life. I can hardly believe it myself.” I peer down the alleyway, seeing a small group of people gathered at the far end. “Why’d you park here—is this a legitimate space? And why so far away? The last thing we need is to get towed.”

“Trust me, no one’s getting towed. There are a few nights every year when the rules are suspended. This is one of them.”

“Let me guess, the other is on the Day of the Dead.”

“Except the New Year’s party at the Rabbit Hole is like the Day of the Dead on steroids.” Dace catches my incredulous look, and captures my hand in his. “I figured it was better to park out of sight and slip through the back. The bouncers may be off duty by now, but why take the chance of them alerting Cade that we’re here? Better to slip in unannounced.”

We make our way down the alleyway. Guided by shouts of revelry seeping from the building, and the dull glow of the single streetlamp casting an odd shadow that at first glance I mistake for an animal.

A rather large animal. Like a big coyote, a fox, or possibly even a wolf.

I stop in my tracks, blinking at the space. I could’ve sworn I saw it returning my look with bright flashing eyes.

“Did you see that?” I whisper, alternately staring and blinking at what is now clearly empty space looming before me.

Dace shakes his head. Studies me with concern.

“You didn’t see anything?”

He lifts his shoulders in response. “You okay?” he asks, lacing his fingers with mine.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I rub a hand over my eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time I thought I saw something out here. Last time it was glowing people and crows.”

“And this time?”

“A coyote, a wolf, a fox, a Labrador retriever?” I lean into his side and start walking again. “Hard to say for sure.”

“Trick of the light,” Dace says.

“Must be,” I murmur, matching my steps to keep pace with his. With so much at stake, there’s no time to delay.

He stops before the back door, about to push it open when he says, “The Rabbit Hole’s New Year’s Eve party is pretty much a free-for-all. Brace yourself for just about anything.”

He’s not kidding. From the moment we step inside, it’s like crashing into a wall of noise that smells vaguely of popcorn, beer, and the sour promise of vomit. And that’s just the first impression coming from the back entrance. I can’t even imagine what I’ll find once we’re deep in the thick of it.

He leads me through the maze of the kitchen. Having spent the past year working here, he knows his way around much better than me. And when we burst through the double doors, it’s exactly like he said—a vision of absolute chaos surrounds us.

The club is swarming with bodies. Their noisemakers, air horns, whistles, kazoos, hand clappers, tambourines, and maracas, clashing badly with the band on stage. A hail of balloons continuously fall from the ceiling, while fog and bubble machines pump from alternate corners. And after a quick glance around, it’s clear the drinking age has been lifted and most everyone is taking advantage. Unaware that in Enchantment, there’s no such thing as a free pass. The Richters prey on people’s weak mental states—drunkenness being chief among them. They thrive on the uninhibited, reckless, indiscriminate behavior it provokes. All it takes is one drink too many and the next thing you know, you’re Richter bait.

“Even more crowded than last year, if you can believe it.” Dace shouts to be heard over the din. Scanning the crowd as he adds, “It’s like every single citizen of Enchantment is here. Maybe even some out of towners as well.”